Hunting the Pegasus Jinx - chapter 10
Thanks for Vana for her continued R&R. You keep me going, girl, I really appreciate your encouragement. So, on with the story.
“Wow.” The heart of the generator room was a large, metallic sphere, suspended in mid air and revolving slowly around itself in a cat’s cradle of cables and pipes. Dean turned to Ronon, who had not spared the impressive setup a single glance, instead scanning their surroundings for signs of their attacker.
“I’d bet my Impala against a soap box that our Wraith ghost is down here somewhere. You feel it? The air’s practically crackling with static. It’s probably feeding off it as we speak.
“So? What do we do?” the Satedan asked.
“We shut it down.”
Ronon cocked an eyebrow in Dean’s direction. “Are you serious?”
“Like a heart attack. We pull the plug on this baby, there’s no more juice for the sucker. And once it’s starved and desperate enough we come back with a lead container, bait it with some batteries, and seal it in there forever. Problem solved.”
Ronon pulled a face. “It won’t be as easy as it sounds.”
“Damn straight. It never is. So much for going back up in an elevator.” Dean looked around the chamber. “But problem number one is that I have no clue how to turn this thing off.”
A feral grin spread across Ronon’s face. “We could blow it up.”
“I like your thinking,” Dean admitted, a similar grin splitting his face. “But counter-productive in this case. We want to cut our disembodied friend off from energy, not give him the kind of boost an explosion would provide.”
He walked over to the main console and studied the display. “Do these symbols mean anything to you?”
Ronon came to stand next to the hunter and looked at the Ancient writing on the panel.
“This one means STATUS,” he said, pointing to a word under a screen with his right hand, while his left indicated another label. “And this one means POWER.”
“Interesting,” Dean observed. Next to the POWER sign there were four sliding levers. He looked up at the taller man and sighed. “Why do I always have to be the shortbus on a team,” he muttered, adding, “Never mind,” when he saw the Satedan’s puzzled expression. “Now, an educated guess says forward is more power, backwards is less.”
Ronon nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Okay, here goes.” Slowly but steadily, the hunter pulled all four levers backwards until they rested at about the center of their grooves. The big metal ball began to slow its revolutions, and the frequency of the hum dropped a notch. The two men exchanged a nod.
“That’s my baby,” Dean said and reached for the lever again. This time there was no warning. The Wraith came out of nowhere, and it had indeed grown stronger. The hunter went flying to the side, away from the controls. He rolled across the floor and regained his feet with catlike grace, just in time to see Ronon swing his sword through the misty shape that was hanging in the air. The ghost dissipated, and Dean gave the Satedan a thumbs-up.
“Nice!”
But in the next moment he felt himself bodily lifted up and thrown clear across the room, where he crashed into the main console that cracked under the impact. Sparks flew while Dean tried to shield his face with one arm, the other lying limply by his side. Ronon saw the ghost streak along in pursuit, reaching one shadowy arm towards the hunter, who was still draped across the controls. But instead of going for the young man’s life force, the Wraith attached itself to the broken cables and greedily began soaking up the current that was crackling at the severed ends. Its shape became more pronounced as it fed, and this fact galvanized the Satedan into action. Gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain in his cracked ribs, his sword described a wide arc and neatly cut the shape in two. This time, however, he felt some slight resistance, and the ghost let out a shuddering moan as it dissolved into nothing.
Breathing heavily, Ronon went to check on Dean, who was struggling to sit up.
“Son of a…” the hunter gasped, his right arm clutching his left shoulder. “Not again.” Ronon could tell from the awkward angle that the joint had been dislocated.
“I can set that for you,” he offered.
“Only if you know what you’re doing,” Dean groaned. He had managed to push himself to a sitting position, cradling his useless arm against his chest.
Ronon shrugged. “Set my own shoulder a couple of times.”
Dean cast a glance that was hazy with pain in his direction. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Nope.” Ronon pointed to the ground with his sword that was still clutched in his hand. “Lie down.”
Only then did he notice that the blade showed splotches of some kind of black goo. Ronon touched it gingerly with a finger tip, but before he had the chance to ask the obvious question, Dean was ready with the answer.
“Ectoplasm.”
“What?”
“It’s what spirits leave behind after they manifest themselves.” The hunter pulled a face. “That’s so not good. The thing’s getting more substantial. We really need to cut it off from its food supply.” He turned towards the console. Some security protocol had obviously cut the power, because it was dark and no longer sparking. “Looks like this thing’s toast, though. Any idea where we could find a back-up access panel?”
Ronon scanned the room. “Let me fix your shoulder, then I’ll have a look around.”
“Peachy.” With a sigh, Dean lowered himself to the floor and stretched out on his back. Ronon bent down and grabbed his left hand. Then he put his foot on the hunter’s collarbone, and bracing himself against what this movement would do to his damaged ribcage, he gave one quick yank on the arm.
“Wow.” The heart of the generator room was a large, metallic sphere, suspended in mid air and revolving slowly around itself in a cat’s cradle of cables and pipes. Dean turned to Ronon, who had not spared the impressive setup a single glance, instead scanning their surroundings for signs of their attacker.
“I’d bet my Impala against a soap box that our Wraith ghost is down here somewhere. You feel it? The air’s practically crackling with static. It’s probably feeding off it as we speak.
“So? What do we do?” the Satedan asked.
“We shut it down.”
Ronon cocked an eyebrow in Dean’s direction. “Are you serious?”
“Like a heart attack. We pull the plug on this baby, there’s no more juice for the sucker. And once it’s starved and desperate enough we come back with a lead container, bait it with some batteries, and seal it in there forever. Problem solved.”
Ronon pulled a face. “It won’t be as easy as it sounds.”
“Damn straight. It never is. So much for going back up in an elevator.” Dean looked around the chamber. “But problem number one is that I have no clue how to turn this thing off.”
A feral grin spread across Ronon’s face. “We could blow it up.”
“I like your thinking,” Dean admitted, a similar grin splitting his face. “But counter-productive in this case. We want to cut our disembodied friend off from energy, not give him the kind of boost an explosion would provide.”
He walked over to the main console and studied the display. “Do these symbols mean anything to you?”
Ronon came to stand next to the hunter and looked at the Ancient writing on the panel.
“This one means STATUS,” he said, pointing to a word under a screen with his right hand, while his left indicated another label. “And this one means POWER.”
“Interesting,” Dean observed. Next to the POWER sign there were four sliding levers. He looked up at the taller man and sighed. “Why do I always have to be the shortbus on a team,” he muttered, adding, “Never mind,” when he saw the Satedan’s puzzled expression. “Now, an educated guess says forward is more power, backwards is less.”
Ronon nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Okay, here goes.” Slowly but steadily, the hunter pulled all four levers backwards until they rested at about the center of their grooves. The big metal ball began to slow its revolutions, and the frequency of the hum dropped a notch. The two men exchanged a nod.
“That’s my baby,” Dean said and reached for the lever again. This time there was no warning. The Wraith came out of nowhere, and it had indeed grown stronger. The hunter went flying to the side, away from the controls. He rolled across the floor and regained his feet with catlike grace, just in time to see Ronon swing his sword through the misty shape that was hanging in the air. The ghost dissipated, and Dean gave the Satedan a thumbs-up.
“Nice!”
But in the next moment he felt himself bodily lifted up and thrown clear across the room, where he crashed into the main console that cracked under the impact. Sparks flew while Dean tried to shield his face with one arm, the other lying limply by his side. Ronon saw the ghost streak along in pursuit, reaching one shadowy arm towards the hunter, who was still draped across the controls. But instead of going for the young man’s life force, the Wraith attached itself to the broken cables and greedily began soaking up the current that was crackling at the severed ends. Its shape became more pronounced as it fed, and this fact galvanized the Satedan into action. Gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain in his cracked ribs, his sword described a wide arc and neatly cut the shape in two. This time, however, he felt some slight resistance, and the ghost let out a shuddering moan as it dissolved into nothing.
Breathing heavily, Ronon went to check on Dean, who was struggling to sit up.
“Son of a…” the hunter gasped, his right arm clutching his left shoulder. “Not again.” Ronon could tell from the awkward angle that the joint had been dislocated.
“I can set that for you,” he offered.
“Only if you know what you’re doing,” Dean groaned. He had managed to push himself to a sitting position, cradling his useless arm against his chest.
Ronon shrugged. “Set my own shoulder a couple of times.”
Dean cast a glance that was hazy with pain in his direction. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Nope.” Ronon pointed to the ground with his sword that was still clutched in his hand. “Lie down.”
Only then did he notice that the blade showed splotches of some kind of black goo. Ronon touched it gingerly with a finger tip, but before he had the chance to ask the obvious question, Dean was ready with the answer.
“Ectoplasm.”
“What?”
“It’s what spirits leave behind after they manifest themselves.” The hunter pulled a face. “That’s so not good. The thing’s getting more substantial. We really need to cut it off from its food supply.” He turned towards the console. Some security protocol had obviously cut the power, because it was dark and no longer sparking. “Looks like this thing’s toast, though. Any idea where we could find a back-up access panel?”
Ronon scanned the room. “Let me fix your shoulder, then I’ll have a look around.”
“Peachy.” With a sigh, Dean lowered himself to the floor and stretched out on his back. Ronon bent down and grabbed his left hand. Then he put his foot on the hunter’s collarbone, and bracing himself against what this movement would do to his damaged ribcage, he gave one quick yank on the arm.